


Behind the closed door I & II

by Vesta (Biggelois)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Merry Month of Masturbation, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggelois/pseuds/Vesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can be lonesome even with someone just behind the door. Dean cleans the guns, Sam stays behind the closed door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the closed door I & II

**Author's Note:**

> It is still May and therefore still the Merry Month of Masturbation.

**Sam**

 

There are those moments, just before he comes, when he can almost feel Dean's hands on him. He has watched Dean so many times, millions of hours, seen him clean the guns, sharpen the knives. There is such delicacy in his movements, such surety. Firm, but still careful. Just as those times he's seen Dean handle women. Heard him.

He grips himself harder, touches his thumb under the head of his cock. He's leaking, all wet, he's been at it for a while now. Dean is just outside, cleaning those damned guns again. He slips two fingers in his mouth, gets them wet, rubs them over his dick to get the wetness from there too. He needs something, anything, even the pain in his ass from fingers pushed in too fast.

Dean doesn't know, but he has watched him. Watched him through the window. Seen him with woman after woman. Dean doesn't know, or care, that the Impala is like an open stage. He takes them in the backseat, makes them ride him, or nails them against the hood.

He knows what Dean does, and he wants it for himself. Sometimes at night, he's watching again. Listening at Dean touching himself. Imagining what it would be like to have those hands on himself. Just as he is now, leaning against the door to the room he shares with Dean.

Dean could come knocking any minute, any second. He pushes his fingers in further, past the second knuckle. The position is awkward and his wrist begins to hurt. But it's worth it, it could be Dean's fingers. Dean's hand on him, stroking fast and sure. He speeds up a little, bends his knees and spreads his legs. The door is getting warm against his cheek, and he thinks that it must be because Dean is behind him, getting him ready. He pulls his fingers out and spits in his hand, spreads it around his hole before shoving his fingers back in.

It still hurts a little, but mostly it's a sweet pressure. He wonders what it would feel like, to be fucked for real. To have a dick, Dean's dick, moving inside him instead of fingers. He tries to keep his voice down but a low moan escapes anyway. His right hand glides faster over his cock, twisting a little at the head, pulls up and squeezes lightly. He rides back on his other hand, aching wrist and all. He wants so bad, wants to be put on his belly, ass in the air. Naked and open. Ready. Anything.

He barely contains the wail slipping from him when he begins to come all over his hand and the door. Phantom hands pulls at him, jerks him through the spasms, phantom fingers fuck deeper into him, spreads him. His ass feels split wide, trying to clench but held open by those fingers. He almost, like a sense memory, feels teeth bite at his neck. Dean would bite him, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to keep him down while he finished.

The ache in his wrist brings him back, that and the doorknob pressing into his stomach. There is a mess on the door, he needs to clean that up. He pulls his fingers from his ass, wincing now when he's done. Oversensitive.

On wobbly legs he walks over the bathroom, grabs a towel and cleans up. The door too. He knows that Dean must have heard him at some point. Dean will laugh at him, and tease him for it when he walks out to sit on the couch again. It doesn't matter. Dean will never know what had him making those sounds.

 

 

 **Dean**

 **  
**

Sam's at it again. It's getting more and more frequent. Dean frowns a little, he could have used a hand with the guns. But whenever he gets to cleaning them, Sam runs off. He gets this weird look and then he's behind a closed door. It's getting annoying.

The thing that irritates Dean the most is that he can hear Sam. Of course, his little brother tries to be quiet but he always fails. Like now, he must be leaning against the door, because Dean can hear him breathe. Sam should know by know that the walls and the doors are paper thin. Besides, Dean is about five feet away from the door. There is no way the sound won't carry.

He turns back to the guns, it's not much to do today, but it still has to be done. A soft sound drifts through the door, followed by a light thump. Dean looks over his shoulder, but there is nothing to be seen. The door is firmly closed.

The worst with Sam's idea to lock himself in and jerk off, isn't that Dean has to do everything himself. The worst is that he's begun to wonder what Sam looks like when he does it, what he thinks about when his cock is hard And the very worst is that Dean has begun to get hard himself when he's wondering. Like he is now.

His dick strains against his jeans as the next soft sound floats through the door. Sam must be getting real warmed up, Dean thinks, and presses a hand against himself. He wonders if Sam uses both hands, kneads his balls like Dean does. Or touches lower, slips a finger or two in, just as Dean does.

The humid air in the room doesn't even make him flinch when he unzips and pulls himself out. There is just relief at the pressure letting up. He's wet already and wonders if Sam is or if he has to use spit to get the slipslide going. A brief image of Sam, on his back, legs spread, rushes through his head but he chases if away. He can't think like that. And he doesn't, until the next low groan hits him. It's low enough to be barely audible but it travels straight to his dick, and plasters another image in his head.

Sam, under him. It would be hard to push his fingers inside, Sam can't have done much. But he would moan just like that, and take it. He wouldn't be able to go fast, not with Sam so new to this. He would need to pace himself, behave, make it good. He slows his hand, rolls his balls with the other. He would have to hold off, until Sam was ready. It's torture to keep it this slow, but he does it. Strains against the couch, listens for more sounds, he needs to know where Sam is, how far gone. The guns are forgotten on the shabby table, they scrape against the surface when he puts his feet up and moves the table slightly. But he has to get a hand lower down, press against the spot just above his hole.

He listens to Sam's breath, keeps himself as quiet as he can so not to miss any sounds. Keeps his hand slow and the pressure steady. The breathing comes faster, small choked of moans in between gasps. He lets himself speed up, smears the precome oozing all over. Maybe it would feel like this to be inside Sam. He grips a little harder, moves a little faster. Listens. There is another thump against the door and then, a bitten off wail. Sam's there. He lets himself go at the sounds. Sees behind closed eyes how flushed Sam is, how red his mouth must be after biting off all those sounds.

He sits for a moment, catching his breath. Sam will be out soon enough and he has to clean up, hide what he just did. He has to tease Sam when he comes out. Because that's what big brothers do. Sam can never know what he just did.

 


End file.
